In defense of the beer hobbyist

A table decides to split the 11.5% ABV Bishops Barrel 3 from Saint Arnold during American Craft Beer Week at Luke’s on Wednesday, May 16, 2013. cat5 file photo

Let’s consider the hobby as a general thing that most people have.

Most people, but not me — am I the only one out there who never took to knitting or home coffee-roasting?

I am a girl who dislikes most things regardless of gender norms, which means I’m equally predisposed to hate both sports-watching and the wearing of bronzer, whatever that is.

A lot of women my age are super into Pinterest, this seventh circle of Internet Hell filled with wire wrap jewelry tutorials and posts like “How to make barefoot sandals for babies.” Do I look like a person who wants to make barefoot sandals for babies? What is a barefoot sandal? What good reason could a baby possibly have for wearing such a thing on the tiny feet they do not use?

Women my age also spend a lot of time and effort perfecting their appearance, a noble pursuit that I envy, quite frankly. But I can’t help the fact that I’d rather eat gum off the floor of Dixie Dance Hall than use a curling iron. I’ve seen videos about the Spanish Inquisition — I know how this ends.

Unfortunately, my displeasure of female-centric activities does not make me naturally predisposed to male pursuits. I’m pretty textbook American female when it comes to math and science — by which I mean I suck at both — and I recently learned that no, I cannot change my own flat tire. But I do know how to call a guy who can.

These factors — combined with my lack of musical ability and poor cooking skills — mean that, before I found beer, I was rudderless. Hobbyless. Without any activity to busy my tiny, uncoordinated hands.

But beer is an equal opportunity hobby. You don’t have to be good at anything, save for maybe holding your liquor. And because Texas is such a huge player in the craft game — we were the No. 2 craft beer-producing state in 2012, with craft beer introducing $2 billion into the Texas economy alone — it’s certainly not hurt my geography skills.

I’ve learned more about our great state through beer than I ever would have otherwise. Did you know that Seven Points, Texas, is named for an intersection where seven roads converge? And that Cedar Creek, the local brewery there, makes a hell of a cream ale?

Craft beer is just fun. Its enthusiasts are fun. Which brings me to a major selling point for beer tastings: They are chock full of hot dudes — tables of them, with glasses and educations. It’s like if Costco was stocked with friendly-eyed 30-somethings who have great facial hair.

Shop ’til you drop, ladies. Sale on gentle souls, aisle 12.

I could go on for days about the social and economic benefits of craft beer, but for me, that’s beside the point. What beer gave me is simpler than that. It gave me something to do, something to talk about other than work or my disdain for complex carbohydrates.

At tastings and beer pairing dinners, I’ve met some rad people — the kind of people who brew their own beer and grow hops for fun. I might not understand them, but they’re sure fun to drink with.